


helplessness blues

by naimeria



Category: Cars (Movies)
Genre: Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-02
Updated: 2017-08-01
Packaged: 2018-12-09 22:17:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11678199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/naimeria/pseuds/naimeria
Summary: actions and reactions to the maturation of lightning mcqueen, the racing industry, and one of the worst crashes it's seen.





	helplessness blues

When the letters start, Smokey isn't sure what to think. 

There's plenty of emotions, of course, fueled by thoughts like  _ well at least you know he remembers you, that should be enough _ and  _ what was he running from that it took him five decades to figure it out?  _

He'd never been able to kick the habit of watching the new generations plow through longer tracks, past different obstacles, at faster speeds. He’d seen when the sports cars took over, their sleeker and smaller bodies outpacing the graceful cars of yesterday, and when the modified stock cars booted them out in turn. The sport was always changing, and Smokey found it a feature he could appreciate, even if it meant he'd become obsolete, that all of his friends slowly drifted to the sidelines, that his own protege had been pushed from what he loved.

So he'd seen Hud’s dramatic reappearance. He'd been torn open with equal parts relief and hurt, and the hurt had fueled frustration into a hot anger. And still he'd watched, greedy for the evidence that his boy was alive and kickin’, and coaching no less. 

And that, Smokey came to realize, was the answer. Hud had hidden himself away, as his letters had confessed; became someone new to ignore the hurt of change, the pain of being forced out of the only life he'd ever thought he'd live. He'd chosen the spotlight again after all these years for a rookie, and that change made all the difference. 

It had taken three weeks of letters before he learned how Lightning had barreled into Hud’s life. The tone of them had shifted from guilt and to a certain kind of reverence, and for the first time in his life, Smokey thought Hud might have made a good father. 

While it had once been habit to watch the races, now he looked forward to them, to seeing Hud and his boy. Louise caught the change first, but soon all four of them were watching together, their shock at seeing their old friend only overpowered by their joy. 

Why hadn't the first emotion he'd felt been joy, too? Why had he gone from surprise to anger, to the penetrating sting of betrayal? He'd confessed to River a month in, and he'd gotten “you taught the boy everything, and he left. It's reasonable. You still mad?”

The answer came easily. “No.”

River grinned. “Good.”

-

Eventually, he'd gotten a return address.

He'd thought about visiting Radiator Springs, this little town on the winding mother road; but it was a long drive, and he wasn't sure his old engine would make it. So, he responded. 

Writing the goings-on of Thomasville was easier than he'd thought it'd be, expanding on the lives of Hud’s old friends, on his own life, what little there was to tell, and soon the letters were a comforting constant in his life. 

Until they weren't.

-

Seeing the news of Hud’s passing shook him for days. The thought that  _ one day _ would happen, that they'd see each other again when they were both ready - it was gone, leaving a phantom ache that hardly gave him room to swallow. 

“I guess I always thought he was around, even after he disappeared,” he said to Louise, hours after the news broke. “Didn't really think about it, but I knew he wasn't gone.”

She'd nodded, nudging him in what small comfort she could give, and turned back to the television. McQueen was there, but only in picture, as apparently he'd been refusing to comment.

“He found a good kid,” she said, and he glanced at her but said nothing, following her gaze to the blurred shot of a distressed Lightning, the only viable one any photographers could get. 

-

When McQueen started racing again, Smokey started watching again. He'd won his first race back with a solid two second lead, and when asked about his newfound motivation, he'd just said, “from Doc,” then drove off with a smile. 

-

Slowly, the sport became fun to watch again. There was still life in it, but it was hard, seeing the empty spot where Hud once sat, murmuring commands and suggestions into that headpiece. The rookie, no longer such, dominated the track once more, cheering on friends as they cheered him on in turn. Smokey never forgot Hud was gone, but the lack of his presence slowly stopped feeling like a wound and more like a scar; apparent, but not painful. 

Missing him somehow felt false, since he hadn't gone to see him when he'd been given the chance. He'd had fifty years to miss him. 

-

It was only a matter of time before the new racers appeared. 

Sleek in ways all previous generations hadn't been, they were wide bodied and rode low, all quiet roars and blazing neon. Their presence was one of intimidation, and their emergence was led by Storm, a fella who quickly saw McQueen as the rival he was. Though it wasn't often publicized, Smokey could see the tension, see how ruffled Hud’s boy was, and it didn't sit right by him. 

Still, he'd seen first hand what happened to racers when the new kids came to the track, and he wasn’t surprised when the veteran cars slowly started dropping out.

It was painful to watch, but he felt a sort of commitment to Lightning, to watching his last days, waiting until he saw what his friends saw - the inevitability of loss, the window to retire with grace. 

But when his buddies answered the call and pulled off the track, McQueen was still circling, pushing hard and falling further and further back. The tenacity was impressive, but Smokey found it equal parts foolhardy. The boy was gonna find out the hard way what happened when the kids showed up to take over. 

-

Hud’s crash had been terrifying to watch; McQueen’s was worse. 

The second he lost that back left, Smokey knew what was happening. And when he watched the right fender slam the wall, he had to look away. Images of Hud rolling through the sand flashed in front of him, like it happened yesterday, and by the time Smokey looked back, the boy rolled twice more then hit the pavement right side up, crumpled and steaming. When he saw fire, he turned off the receiver. 

-

They talked about it of course; they'd all seen a crash first hand, but the ones of yesterday were on dirt, the walls wood instead of concrete, all more forgiving materials. 

“I'd be surprised if the boy raced again,” Junior said one night over a quart, and Smokey looked down at the flaked wood of the table. Would that be his choice, or would he be forced out, too? Neither would surprise him. 

-

Four months later, he was seen outside of his new sponsor’s racing center, looking pristine and abashed in front of two dozen cameras. He looked, for all intents and purposes, ready to race again. Smokey read half the clipping, then turned back to the garage. He didn't know what he wanted the kid to do. Rock, hard place. 

-

The days that followed were filled with nothing but speculation and hype. Never one for tabloids, Smokey had no plans to watch until the Florida National, and he found it was easy to let it slip from his mind.

Thomasville went on in the same way it always had; slowly, a pleasant amble with little purpose. He liked it that way, but sometimes it was nice to go for a drive, see sights he hasn't seen in a year or two. 

The track had seen better days (years), but at it's heart it was the same track it had been last time Smokey had seen the Fabulous Hudson Hornet on it. 

He didn't think this track has ever seen two cars quite like this. 

McQueen was easy to pick out, bright red and shining, drifting around the turn with practiced ease. The second, a new gen car, yellow and grinning from mirror to mirror, was shakily miming the racecar two paces ahead of her, laughing when she found the sweet spot. McQueen cheered her on, and took the straightaway at easily over one ninety. 

Smokey drove to where the finish line had once been painted in and waited. He wasn't sure what Lightning McQueen was doing here, or how he'd even found the place, but he was willing to find out. 

 


End file.
